Bring Me To Life - A Bamon Fanfic
by AlexaIsAMessa
Summary: Bonnie Bennett had for the most part, a normal life-two best friends, an apartment in New York, and a recently broken heart. However, her life is completely changed when she finds a confused, beautiful, and very much naked man in her bed the morning after a New Year's party. She's experienced many weird things in her life, but nothing like this wild stranger that likes danger.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** **I would just like to say before any of you begin reading: This was a prompt—although not mine originally—I was given permission to use. Credit for it goes to Deirdre or on the Tumblr world she is known as** ** _damnbamon_** **. You should really check her out if you haven't. She's really nice and a bamon-fanatic. Anyway, now that that's out of the way, I hope you enjoy the first chapter!**

* * *

 **BONNIE**

Things had been going well for Bonnie—well, except for the fact her rent was due in three days, she and her roommates spent the rent money on booze and decorations for the New Year's Eve party that Caroline, one out of two of Bonnie's roommates, had been planning. Oh, and before she almost forgets, her boyfriend of five years just broke up with her only a three weeks ago.

So, as far as things going well, they definitely could've been worse.

...And if she hadn't believed in bad luck, she did now.

It was only when Bonnie had woken up the next morning with a very annoying and painful hangover that threatened to send her straight for the bathroom as soon as her eyes had opened, her stomach churning, did something feel off. At first, her suspicions had lead to the fact when she turned her head—which had been buried into the pillow as she sleeps on her chest, face smashed into the feathery cushion—to the side and read the alarm clock that sits on the white nightstand that stands next her bed. The damn thing told her it was only seven thirty a.m. and she let out a groan.

...Or, at least she thought she did.

Her mouth had opened, but nothing had actually come out of it.

Bonnie had been expecting to hear her own voice, but instead what she had heard was groan—a very manly, tired groan.

And Bonnie was definitely not a man.

As she slowly, and reluctantly, turned her head over her right shoulder, one eye closed while the other was just cracked open slightly she realizes her suspicions had been completely wrong. It wasn't the fact that it was seven-thirty in the morning that had set her off, but instead the very overwhelming fact that there was a very naked, and beautifully carved man lying on the bed next her.

He had raven black hair and strands of it hung in front of eyes, pale skin, a sharply toned body, a chiseled chin that you could probably grate cheese off of because of how sharp it was, and a six pack. And the only thing her purple sheet covered was his junk, nothing more, nothing less. When she glances over at the foot of the bed, she spotted her white comforter lying in a piled heap on the floor, mostly likely kicked off and forgotten.

Although this wasn't exactly the worse thing to ever happened to her, Bonnie couldn't help but wonder: Who was he?

And what was naked mystery man doing lying in her bed? Bonnie had all sorts of ideas of why he was here, but she had even more questions that demanded to have answers now. But something in her gut told her she wasn't going to like the answers she got. It also probably should've surprised her to see him just lying here, but over the years of having to deal with some pretty weird shit and now at the prime age of twenty-two, not many things could surprise her.

Not even a naked man in her bed.

But what really creeped her out wasn't that this rugged male specimen was too freakishly beautiful to even be part of the human race, but actually the fact that he was staring back at her, his light glacier blue eyes locked with her emerald green ones is what did the trick.

...So, in typical Bonnie fashion, what does she do?

Act mature and deal with the situation like an adult?

Haha...No. Because that would be unheard of.

She does the one thing she can't think of.

She screams.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Quick author's note. In this fanfic Damon's last name is 'Whittemore' and Stefan's will still be 'Salvatore'. And if you're wondering about the ages, Damon is in his late twenties (27/28), Stefan is in his mid-twenties (25/26), Caroline and Bonnie are in their early twenties (23/24). Oh, and if anybody is wondering why this fic is called "Bring Me To Life" and it doesn't match the description somewhat, it's because….SPOILERS! I can't exactly tell you, but more shall be explained as the story continues.**

* * *

 **BONNIE**

Now, Bonnie wasn't entirely sure why she was screaming at the top of her lungs.

It wasn't because she was scared of the mystery man in her bed. No, it definitely wasn't that. But it probably had something to with the fact that she didn't know what else to do. Thinking apparently wasn't an option right now, so the only logical thing she could think of doing was screaming. And she probably would've screamed until her vocal cords gave out and she could never talk again if it weren't for the loud pounding coming from the other side of her bedroom wall.

Behind it, she could just barely hear the muffled yelling of her neighbour (or as Bonnie refers to her as: 'the bitchy old cat lady next door') telling her, or commanding would be a better term for it, to shut the hell up.

She thinks about just screaming for the hell of it, to piss off her neighbour—God knows the old hag deserves it after the crap she pulled that had every resident in her apartment building rioting (but that's another story for another time)—but decides against it, ears only picking up a few words at a time, her brain trying to piece them together and make sense of it all.

The words she got were: _shut, report, kicked, landlady._

 _Shit, shitty, shit, shit!_ Bonnie thought to herself, coming to the quick conclusion that if she didn't shut up her cranky neighbour would report them to their landlady and have her kicked out.

"Well, aren't you just _peachy_ in the morning." She hears a voice comment and Bonnie's head snaps to the side where, instantly, her eyes land on her naked mystery man.

She glares daggers at him.

"You don't get to complain," she states, pointing an accusing finger at him, "Not when it's your fault I might get kicked out of my apartment—which I happen to love very much, by the way."

Mystery man raises a sardonic eyebrow, the corner of his lips pulling into a smirk.

"Well, I'm glad the relationship is working out—" and before he can even finish his sentence, Bonnie is grabbing one of her many pillows off her bed and hitting him with it.

"You're disgusting!" she shouts, about to hit him with the pillow again, but he grabs onto the other end of it and yanks it right out of her hands with ease. There wasn't even any effort put into it. He might as well have just grabbed it with his thumb and forefinger! Either her grip on the pillow wasn't tight as she thought it had been or this guy really was as magical as he looked.

 _Oh. My. God,_ Bonnie thought as her eyes widen, _he's like a fucking unicorn! All majestic and shit!_

And just as the thought entered her mind, she mentally facepalms herself because of course— _of course_ , that would be the only logical explanation as to why Mr. Nake-Mystery-Man could have snatched the pillow right of her hands so easily like he was plucking a grape off its vine. It couldn't have been because she didn't have that tight of a grip on the pillow and it definitely couldn't have been because mystery man was just stronger than she was with his manly muscles. Nope. Neither of those options could be it. But him _being a goddamn unicorn_ apparently made so much more sense to her.

Yeah, Bonnie was beginning to lose her mind.

"Anyone ever tell you that you look incredibly hot when you're angry?" Mystery man's voice snaps Bonnie back into reality, where her attention goes back to the man lying on her bed, and her eyes narrow into slits. He may be incredibly gorgeous, but that certainly didn't hide the fact that he is, indeed, a giant sarcastic asshole.

Crossing her arms, she retaliates by asking, "Anyone ever tell you that your pervert and shouldn't sleep in other people's bed without their knowledge nor permission?"

For a moment there, Bonnie thinks she's got him, but apparently, mystery man had other things in mind than answering her question and was living up to his new title as being a giant sarcastic asshole by saying, "Hm. Did I say hot? I meant _sexy._ I am mean, the feistier you get, the harder my—"And, once again, Bonnie grabs the same pillow from earlier that he had stolen and was now lying in his lap, and started hitting him with it again. Was it odd that she found this be somewhat more satisfying than sex? Probably. But she didn't dwell on that thought for long as she continued hitting him.

He lets her continue with hitting him for about a minute, but as the seconds tick by, the more irritated he gets and his annoyance builds and his self-control lessens and suddenly, he's grabbing the pillow right out of her hands.

But this time, however, he had pulled a little too hard and before Bonnie knew she was falling face first onto his chest—his _rock-hard, six-pack chest_. And so, there they were, face-to-chest, and Bonnie glanced up, having to tilt her neck a little to the side to actually see the man's face, he seemed just as shocked as she was.

But that's not the only thing she noticed.

No.

After all of _that_ , they were still holding onto the fucking pillow.

With angry huff, Bonnie sits up, using her free hand—which was pressed into her mattress and was also placed smack dab in between mystery man's legs and it furthered prove how much the universe was truly out to get her and make her life a living hell, and somehow it had come in the form of a majestically gorgeous, over-sarcastic, narcissistic, walking, talking (unfortunately) asshole—to keep her steady and upright, and using what little strength she did have, she ripped the pillow straight out of his hands and chucked it across her room where it landed near a pile of dirty laundry.

She stared at it silently for a moment, glaring at the damn thing like it had somehow been its fault of why she had landed practically on top of this strange, handsome man. Then, her simmering anger fades, turning into nothing but a sort of warm numbness.

She felt, strangely enough, ashamed for what she had done to the pillow.

And, as if he could hear her thoughts, mystery man asks, "Now, what the hell did the pillow ever do to you to deserve such a treatment?"

Bonnie couldn't help but notice the way his eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, but not because of the fact she threw pillow, but because when she looked down at the hand he'd been using to hold onto the pillow, his fingers were curled into a tight fist, knuckles a ghostly white—which said a lot by itself seeing how the owner of the hand already was, almost the colour of snow.

He wasn't confused.

He was absolutely _dumbfounded._

And that alone was enough for Bonnie to forget all about the fact that he was a pervert and that she had only been a few inches away from coming face-to-face with his dick.

Smugly, she smirk, raising both her eyebrows as if to _'how do you like it?'_

Then, now with both of her hands free, she rises up off the mattress, looming over him as stood on her knees. She wobbled for a minute, but determined to not have a repeat of falling onto mystery man's chest, she balances herself.

 _You got this,_ she tells herself, _don't you dare fall over_.

Fortunately, she doesn't.

Slowly, Bonnie crawls off the bed, the nightgown she's wearing riding up and getting stuck in her boy-shorts. Not daring to look to see the expression on mystery man's face, she walks over to her dresser. Once she's in front of it, she opens one of the drawers, digging through it and pulling out some clothes to wear and one item in particular.

Turning back around, she throws the old pair of sweatpants that she dug out from the drawer and they land at mystery man's feet.

Bonnie watches him as he, curiously, leans over and stretches an arm out to grab the sweatpants. She raises a confused eyebrow as he inspects the sweatpants and for a minute, the room is completely silent, the only being heard in their breathing and the sound of cars driving on the street outside of her apartment building.

After the minute passes, and she's about to open her mouth to ask what's wrong, he speaks first.

"Who's are these, because they definitely can't be yours?" He asks, looking up at her from where he sits on the bed.

"My roommate's—" Bonnie pauses, pursing her lips, "—well, technically, he's not my roommate. More of a good friend who crashes here a little too often and sometimes he forgets thing—such as those sweatpants you're holding. You look to be his size."

He's silent for a moment, and then, slowly, he nods. "...Yeah, wouldn't want to go commando."

At this, Bonnie laughs. "Yeah, wouldn't want that."

Surprisingly, he smiles back at her. "B-But in all seriousness, thanks…"

"Bonnie," she tells him when his voice trails off. "My name's Bonnie."

"Well, hello then, good morning Bonnie," he waves at her, his lips spreading apart to form a cheeky grin. "My name's is Damon—Damon Whittemore."

 _And mystery man finally has a name._

She shakes her head, but still has to bite her cheek to keep from smiling. "Well, good morning to you, too, Damon. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to take a shower...I'd tell you to make yourself at home, but I'm afraid you might turn my nice, neat, _clean_ apartment into a frat house. So, as long as you put those pants on—and keep them on—and don't ransack my underwear drawer, keep your feet off the coffee table, and don't go snooping through my personal items, we won't have a problem. Those are my terms for you staying here."

As she's about to turn and walk out of her bedroom, the sound of his—Damon's—voice makes her stop in tracks.

"And what makes you think I'll be staying here?" he questions, and she doesn't miss the hint of cockiness that laced into his words.

Throwing him a glance over her shoulder, she states, "I figure that since your clothes are nowhere to be found, and you obviously have no idea have you ended up in my bed—and I doubt you're that much of an asshole to forget somebody's name, especially when you woke up in their bed—I was thinking we might solve the great mystery of how the hell you ended up in my apartment, naked if I may add. Sound like a good plan?"

Damon slowly nods. "Sounds good."

"Okay," Bonnie breathes out a sigh in relief. "Good. Now, there's food in the fridge if you get hungry and for the love of God and my sanity, put whatever you find back in its original spot."

Confused, he asks, "Why?"

"Well, unless you want my actual roommate—her name is Caroline, just FYI—to tear you a second asshole, you'll do exactly as I just said—or, just try and not touch anything."

And with that said, Bonnie doesn't wait for a reply and races out of the room, almost dropping her clothes along the way to the bathroom.

Distantly, she hears Damon letting out a chuckle. "I don't bite, you know!"

She enters the bathroom, and just as she's about to shut the door, she yells back, "That's exactly what somebody who does bite would say! You can't fool me, Damon!"

When she doesn't hear him reply, Bonnie sets her clothes down on the counter and undressing, letting her nightgown fall to the floor, along with the underwear she had been wearing. Stepping into the bath, she leans down to turn the shower on, and right when her fingers land on the cool metal of the tap, she just barely hears Damon say the words:

 _"No, I can't!"_

And those three little words send an instant shiver down her back.

Bonnie blames it on the fact she's standing in the nude in the bathroom where the window sends in a cold draft and she's got nothing to keep her warm beside crossing her arms.

 _Yeah, it's draft,_ she convinces herself as the water comes shooting out of the spout. _Just the cold January weather._

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 ** _A/N: Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Don't forget to leave a review._**


	3. Chapter 3

**BONNIE**

When Bonnie turned the shower off, the water that had been spraying from the shower head was now dripping, droplets of water falling onto her feet, the first thing she hears when she steps out of the shower, feet landing on the soft, white plush bath mat, was the sound of music. Then, as the music began to register in her ears and she concentrated on figuring out who the artist was, the smell of frying bacon hits her, it wafting through the small crack of space where the door ends and the floor begins. Instantly, her stomach growls and it only then does Bonnie realize how hungry she really was.

"Are you serious?" she asks as she walks into the kitchen five minutes later, fully clothed in a pair of black leggings and an old, tattered, over-sized basketball shirt that used to be her father's, with her shoulder length hair twisted into the towel and was now sitting on top of her head. Tucked into the corner, near the fridge was the radio that was blasting Taylor Swift's ' _Shake It Off_ '.

"Taylor Swift? Really, Damon?"

At the sound of her voice, Damon turns around from where he stands by the stove, spatula in one hand—Bonnie definitely didn't miss how he had been pretending it was microphone and lip-singing to it—and holding the frying pan's handle in the other. In the frying pan, there are two round, slightly raw pancakes cooking in it. She could smell them from where she stood eight feet away, keeping her distance and taking a seat at the Island, plopping down on one of the steel stools.

She notices that Damon's eyes never leave her, even as he throws his arm back, then surges it forward and in the frying-pan, the pancakes flip a good foot in the air before landing back in the pan. Bonnie was impressed to the say the least.

 _Very_ impressed, even.

"What's with the T-Swifty?" she asks, as Damon turns, putting the frying-pan back down onto the stove to let the pancakes cook.

He throws a glance over his broad, naked shoulders, shrugging. "What can I say? She gets me!"

Bonnie knew he was only joking, of course. Although, that didn't mean she missed the way Damon did a little twirl as he grabbed a piece of bacon and brought it to his mouth, biting off a huge chunk. Bonnie didn't have the heart to tell him he looked like a complete idiot as he sang into the spatula, half-naked and hair a wild, tousled mess. At least, not while he was clearly enjoying himself. She was nice enough to keep her opinions to herself, especially when Damon served as a sort of breakfast entertainment, and that was something Bonnie _definitely_ didn't mind.

Breakfast was served ten minutes later, and Damon had gone through two more songs of Taylor Swift's ('Wildest Dreams' and 'Out Of The Woods') and was now softly humming along to Selena Gomez's 'Same Old Love'. Both artists were good, and the songs were incredible, but when sung by a tone-deaf, twenty-something at 8:40 in the morning—she read the time when she looked at the clock that's hanging off the wall—not so much.

"This is really good," Bonnie tells him as they eat their breakfast, both plates having a stack of four pancakes and a pile of bacon. But unlike Damon's plate, her food was swimming in syrup. "Who taught you to cook?"

Damon simply shrugs, but it didn't go unnoticed by Bonnie when his jaw clenched and he stopped eating immediately seemed upset, but as the song on the radio changed so did his mood, and Damon was back to being a giant smiling sarcastic dummy. It had shocked her slightly, but Bonnie understood if that he didn't want to talk about it, she shouldn't ask.

Although, his weird cheery mood didn't last for long, and suddenly he's pushing back on the stool, one of his large hands covering his mouth as he raced to the bathroom.

The door to the bathroom opened with a loud squeak as the hinges grind together and closed with a slam. Bonnie heard the sound of a loud smack, which she could only guess was the toilet seat and the lid colliding together. It was only a few seconds later that she heard the muffled sounds of Damon puking, but for her sake, she decided to tune the gross sounds out.

She pushes away the plate that has her half-eaten breakfast on it, not feeling so hungry anymore.

Bonnie sits quietly, doing her best to keep her focus on the music instead of the disturbing sounds coming from the bathroom. It was only when five minutes had passed that she had found enough courage to hop off the stool and make her down the hallway, where she found herself standing in front of the closed bathroom door.

She goes to raise her hand, but instantly brings it back down to her side. It felt as if, to her anyway, that if she knocked on the door she'd be intruding on a private situation.

 _Come on, you can do this!_ Says that tiny voice in the back of her head, urging her on. _It's not like you haven't seen someone puke before._

The tiny voice was beginning to get annoying, but it wasn't wrong. So, instead of knocking on the door, Bonnie asks in the softest voice, "...Damon…You alright in there?"

She doesn't hear anything for about a minute. Everything completely silent. Then, she hears the sound of the toilet flushing and the sink running and Damon coughing. It's about a good three minutes later when the handle on the door jiggles, Damon probably unlocking it, and the door opening to reveal a pale, tired Damon Whittemore.

...And a pale tried Damon Whittemore looked like shit—to put it nicely.

Smacking his lips, he says, "Yeah. I'm real peachy."

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Bonnie asks, "You sure?"

"I'm fine, I promise." He nods before brushing past her, walking back to the kitchen. Grumbling under her breath, Bonnie follows him, only to find Damon leaning over the sink, groaning. A rush of worry falls over Bonnie as she races to his side, and when she does, the first thing that hits her is the smell of vomit.

Oh, yeah. You're totally fine," she mumbles, rubbing soothing circles on his back—something her Grams always used to do for Bonnie when she had an upset stomach. She contemplates about stopping but seeing as Damon made no complaints, she didn't.

"You should probably lay down," she suggested, but Damon shook his head, immediately regretting doing so as he lets out another groan, bringing one hand up to his head. "Yeah, come on, let's get you settled on the couch." And without waiting for him to respond, Bonnie is grabbing Damon by the arm and dragging him into the living room where she had him down on the couch, covered in the blankets that had been neatly folded on a stack on the coffee table.

As Bonnie was checking Damon's temperature, using the back of her hand and lying it flat on his forehead, her eyes had caught onto something red. Knowing she should probably mind her own business, but not being able too as her curiosity grew, she waited until Damon's eyes had fluttered shut and the only thing that could be heard from the man was his light snores. Gently and carefully, not wanting to wake him up, Bonnie moves the blankets and lifts up Damon's right arm, and, right away, she noticed why it was red—it was irritated and had some slight bruising in the area.

Gently and carefully, not wanting to wake him up, Bonnie moves the blankets and lifts up Damon's right arm, and, right away, she noticed why it was red—it was irritated and had some slight bruising in the area.

It looked to be some sort of needle mark, she had guessed from the tiny puncture mark in his inner forearm. The puncture mark must've been caused by having his blood drawn—and from one look, and past experience, Bonnie knew it wasn't from any injection, as those looks completely different—and the irritation was from Damon scratching at it. Not only did Bonnie's curiosity grow, but so did her worry as she looked over Damon's other arm, and sure enough, three more puncture marks—and all from blood withdrawal. Even the back of his one hand, near the knuckles, had small, yet visible, red welt that a big pinkish, purplish bruise surrounding it.

Her eyebrows scrunched together as questions began to swarm around in her head, begging for answers—answers she'd probably wouldn't get.

At least, not right now.

Distracted by having her attention solemnly focused on Damon, Bonnie hadn't even realized that someone had walked through the front door until a loud, high-pitched screech pierced her eardrums.

"BONNIE SHEILA BENNETT!"

...Yeah, Bonnie was definitely done for.

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 _ **A/N: Sorry it's short. But thank you for reading anyways! Oh, and don't forget to leave a review!**_


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